I spent the first 22 Easters of my life, as well as I can remember, in Porterdale. I always looked forward to attending Sunrise Service at Julia A. Porter United Methodist Church, even before it was united.
I don’t know what it is about these two weeks in April, but I know that they have always led to significant drama in the history of this great country.
I went to bed Thursday night with a nice and shiny black SUV in my driveway. I woke up with a sickening yellow SUV in my driveway. Like a sneak attack from above the pollen season is upon us.
This week I have really realized just how much I really do miss teaching the history of our country to really smart teenagers
We buried Lewis Grizzard twenty years ago. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? That it has been that long?
Winston Churchill called Russia a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Sir Winston wasn’t just whistling Dixie.
I set out 40 days ago on a fast of my own. I wasn’t going to give up eating entirely, but I was giving up all red meat, all added sugar — including drinks — all gluten, which means all bread and wheat products, and all dairy products. In other words, if it tasted good, I couldn’t have it.
Somewhere along the way the state of Georgia is going to have to decide that having students in school, in front of their teachers, is the only way to improve education. I just don’t think that day will occur between now and the end of May.
I have done something that I vowed I would not do. I have succumbed to the latest fad. I have gone gluten free. I have never felt better.
The thing that got me thinking, as I was unloading the dishwasher, was the contrast between what we have eaten off of since we set up housekeeping and what my mama had.
It seems like I have been to a lot of funerals lately, which tells me something about myself
I believe wholeheartedly in what Phoenix Pass is doing. So here is what you can do for me. You can call 770-760-1020 and buy your tickets. They are $25 apiece and every dime goes to do the work of Phoenix Pass. Every dime
You are welcome to wallow in the remnants of 2013. I am eager to stride into 2014 with excitement and anticipation. To paraphrase my good friend, Lou Richt, I think it is going to be the “greatest year of my life.”
That has been 53 years and I still see some of my classmates from time to time and we still laugh about the Christmas when Miss Jordan’s class garnered every item listed in the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
But growing up and watching the Macy’s Parade and “Miracle of 34th Street” and the lighting of the tree in Rockefeller Center on my little black-and-white television set convinced me that the Big Apple had to be the place where all the cool people went to celebrate the holidays.
Well, if you have been traipsing to your mailbox every day since Thanksgiving, hoping to find a card from yours truly, you may be feeling like Charlie Brown right about now.
Please. Don’t just think to yourselves, “I’ll do that.” Actually do it. If not today, tomorrow. Don’t put it off. There are dozens of places you can take your toys locally.
I am thankful for memories — even sad ones — because memories mean that significant events have occurred in my life. I am thankful for every card and letter and phone call of encouragement I have received over the past two years and I am thankful for each and every prayer that has been sent heavenward on my behalf.
There is one problem that being a former educator has produced. What do I do with all those crazy school ties?
Sometimes I wish I could just pave over the yard and paint it green. I have been doing this for weeks now and when I look up into the trees they still look 95 percent full. Yet another disadvantage of being a retired school teacher.
I am a man of tradition. That’s another way to say that I am old and set in my ways, I suppose. If it was good enough for my parents it should be good enough for me.
I don’t know how he knows but Jodey, who is really good at this stuff, tells me that we have a couple thousand regular listeners in 30 states and five or six foreign nations. Folks are sitting down in the United Kingdom and Norway listening to me talk about how things used to be in the American South. It’s a great country, isn’t it. Who’d a thunk it?
Please don’t forget that the “compromise” reached by the two parties was merely temporary and we might get to do this all over again in early 2014.
The inhabitants here call their little piece of paradise the Conch Republic because in 1982, when the U.S. Government set up barricades on U.S. 1 and stopped and searched every car coming into Key West, the city council voted to secede from the Union and become an independent republic. The whole thing was rather tongue-in-cheek but it got Key West the attention it was seeking and soon the roadblock was lifted.
I don’t know if those principals got anything out of listening to me last week, but I certainly enjoyed the trip down Memory Lane the opportunity afforded me.
Yankees say we Southerners are not too bright. At least we know enough chemistry to understand the melting point of sugar.
Checking things off your list is a whole lot tougher than you think.
This week I found myself with a bit of spare time on my hands and thought I might earn a few brownie points by attacking the accumulated clutter of the past three decades. After all, the holiday season is just around the corner. Imagine Lisa’s delight when she trudges upstairs to get the Christmas wreaths this year and finds that order has replaced chaos. That’s what I told myself, but alas, it was not to be. This time it was quilts.
Dear Dr. Jamie Leigh, I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle. I know that you will be the most beautiful bride in the history of marriage and I am thankful that God has let me hang around long enough to enjoy this moment.
I loved back-to-school shopping when I was a kid. I was a nerd before the word was coined. I can still close my eyes and smell those fresh Crayola crayons.
I’m getting a little sad thinking about another school year starting but this time without me leading a classroom.
Salem Camp Meeting and homemade ice cream go hand in hand.
T.J. Stripling was one of the most highly recruited football players in the state of Georgia -- and that means in the world.
I decided the other day that I would try to find out where I could put my hands on a good sized load of gopher wood — just in case, you know. I mean, it hasn’t rained for 40 days and 40 nights, yet, but we haven’t been more than 40 hours without a good hard rain since the woods burned over.
Remember the old joke, "Do they have a Fourth of July in England?"
I was doing really well at my new career of trip planner and tour guide. I really was. I got 50 people to Boston and back safely on my maiden voyage, without creating an international incident — or even a sectional one.
What this country needs is not a good 5-cent cigar, but a return to the days of the telephone booth.
For all practical purposes, summer is here
I suppose I knew this day would come sometime, but not this soon.
Are we the people still willing to take up the torch for those who have given their last full measure on behalf of liberty and freedom?
Now that I am a retired educator I guess I have to decide what to tell people when they ask me what I do for a living.
Words. We all have the same ones at our disposal but many of us seem determined to use the same ones over and over.
Last week I stumbled across a place I had never been -- and it is a place so filled with the types of treasures that are near and dear to my heart that I will have to keep going back.
Sometimes Southern sandwiches made frozen TV dinners look good.
When I learned of the attacks in Boston on Monday, I sat down and pounded out a column full of anger and belligerence. The next day, my youngest child, Jenna -- after taking time to reflect -- sat down and penned the following words.
I had a girlfriend in 1957 — an older woman who was 15. Her name was Annette Funicello.
My youngest daughter --the one called Danger -- was having a conversation with her boyfriend, Jonathan. Perhaps it was a discussion, rather than a conversation. Maybe even a debate. I think argument might be a bit too strong.. I wasn't eavesdropping. This debate was right out in the open --around
What a difference a year can make. On the last Sunday in March in 2012 my lovely wife Lisa and I checked into a room in the Rotary House hotel at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas.
My daddy used to have a saying about rats. He would get people to ask him what he thought about rats and he would invariably answer, "I'm rough on rats!" I never knew what, exactly, he meant by
Whatever happened to getting in the family car and going for a ride? Other than $4 a gallon gas, I mean.